


Winter

by elanurel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, BDSM, Drama, F/M, Humor, Knifeplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanurel/pseuds/elanurel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There was more to Jo's ultimatum than anyone knew, between Harvelle's storeroom and Philadelphia.  After she told him to leave, there was only one place to go.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

_It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt._

Dean knew where it was headed the moment Jo had said the words. _No good deed goes unpunished, son._ Like letting Jo Harvelle tag along on a hunt because she reminded him of Sam with something to prove. She even had the same look on her face, a twisted flush topped off with angry eyes and the sucked-in breath before the volley of words poured out designed to wear you down. When she was done, Jo had mixed up Holmes with what happened to her father; blaming him – blaming _Dad_ – for the way things turned out.

He tried to get her to stop. See what he could do to make amends, but the damn girl kept right on talking – pushing what little peace they had made in Philadelphia back into his face with terse accusations. She'd been shaking like falling leaves in a storm.

But she wasn't listening, pinched and hurt by her mother's revelation. Dad had told him once that there wasn't anything as fierce as a mother protecting her young; he'd been talking about werewolves but the same principle applied after Ellen cornered him in the hallway and demanded to know why he was playing two nice girls against each other. Ellen was probably just giving Jo a reason to let go that gave her daughter some dignity, some righteousness against the sting of being dragged back home like she was a kid; maybe even some tricks to get past the rejection of always being left behind.

There'd been too many women after that night in Harvelle's storeroom to apologize, long before Penny Hillsworth marched into the pool room at the Roadhouse wearing the rattiest pink sweatpants he'd ever seen on a chick. Even comparing the two was fucked – everyone but Sam had stuck Penny on the sidelines, the girl who grew up with a backyard full of trees and a dozen kids sneaking up to rub her on the belly. Jo didn't get what he saw in her, had asked him why when Sam was out getting coffee, in a conversation where he had said too much.

And not even Dean had played her fair, all the times he should have called after that – not deserving the way Penny Hillsworth would slip past the cracks and cushion the aches with nothing but the way she laughed. He wasn't about to tell anyone that Penny made him want to promise things he never should; a Winchester's promise wasn't worth much, with him spilling open because he was watching the burn in Jo's eyes while waiting for Sam and coffee.

_I was six or seven, and uh, he took me shooting for the first time. You know, balls on a fence, that kind of thing. I bulls eyed every one of them. He gave me this smile, like... I don't know._

He had managed to screw the pooch without even unbuttoning his pants.

It just slipped out when Jo pushed, between anxiety and all of the lies; the ones they told to each other, the scams they pulled to solve the case. There wasn't much difference between the lies a father told his sons and the lies a mother told her daughter; a man was still dead, probably a good one, and Dean still didn't know which life was the real one – the one he thought belonged to his father or the one John Winchester actually lived, all those secrets tied up in death and broken promises.

The only thing that made sense was running towards the luck-bright smile that convinced a man that he could fight fate; even one with a list of things to do and no clue where to start, tasks no brother should ever be asked to perform. It wasn't anyone's fault but his that Jo wasn't first on that list, no matter how high up the Harvelles were, and no amount of wishing on her part would change that; there was no hope that he could offer her because those two mistakes would never mean more than they did.

When it came, Jo's ultimatum had been a relief.

_Just get out of here._

The only place to go was the last place he deserved to be.

Dean drove it straight, stopping only for gas and pit stops. Sam didn't even make a crack about it the first time they pulled into a drive-through, just leaned around Dean and placed his order like a thirteen-hour drive to some chick's place was the normal Winchester MO. He mentioned something about stopping for presents after seeing some of the decorations they'd been passing in small towns, shutting up only when Dean scowled at him.

The weather started turning bad around Cedar Rapids. Another goddamn storm Dean was determined they'd outrun, gunning the Impala with a grimace while AC/DC blared from its speakers. Sam stole a look at him when the wind howled louder than the engine's roar and the tires skidded through a turn. He slowed the car down just enough to keep from roaring over a highway barrier but kept right on driving. He could sleep when they got there.

The blizzard chased them the entire way.

Sam was hunched against the window when they rolled up in front of the apartment building, curled around his arm and looking like he was six years old all over again while he slept.

_You don't have time for this, Dean._

There were more important things to worry about than which story was true, which promise had been given. All that mattered was that the yellow-eyed freak wasn't getting Sammy. Dean still couldn't shut out his father's voice telling him what he needed to do if he couldn't save Sam, that he had to put his baby brother down like a dog.

Dean blamed the hospital. Dad was probably desperate when he said it, couldn't think of another way out given what was coming next. John Winchester always stood between innocents and the dark that threatened them. There was more to the story than Ellen was telling her daughter; she just didn't know the man the way that Dean did. John Winchester didn't make a habit of sacrificing anyone except himself. The fact that Dean wasn't a pile of ash was proof enough that John Winchester was Corps, would shoulder the burden himself rather than passing it on to someone else.

Except that's exactly what John Winchester had done – exacting the one promise that Dean was destined to break.

_Semper Fi._

Dean swallowed, leaning over to shake his brother awake. "Hey, Sam. We're here."

Sam blinked, eyes adjusting to the moonlight reflecting off the snow. He didn't say anything, flipping up the lock in one brisk movement before stepping outside and closing the door. Sam shifted from foot-to-foot, breath coming out as a cloud, while he waited for Dean to unlock the trunk. They both grabbed their duffels – Sam snatching the gun bag before Dean closed the trunk – and started heading towards the building.

Sam got there first, pulling out a set of shiny keys and unlocking the front door with a huge grin on his face. "We should have gotten her something," Sam said, head nodding pointedly at the fake holly and mistletoe garland wrapped around the banister on the staircase. There were glossy metallic ornaments peppered across the ceiling, hanging down at different levels. It wasn't like Dean had planned on driving to Chicago when he woke up that morning and Sam was the one who always remembered crap like that when they were growing up; Sammy had bugged Dad so much about it the year he turned ten that Dad made it Sam's job just to shut him up.

Penny Hillsworth had picked the wrong damn Winchester if what she wanted was gift wrap and bows.

He started walking up the stairs, Sam following closely behind. Dean took a breath when they reached the third floor, staring at the number before pulling his own set keys out of his pocket. His eyes met Sam's before he turned the key; Sam smiled like they always dropped by Penny's and let themselves into the apartment, never getting how fucking weird the whole thing was. Dean unlocked the door slowly, listening for sounds and waiting for instinct to kick in as he pushed the door forward.

The living room was full of those goddamn twinkling lights – enough to make an epileptic have a seizure just by stepping across the threshold. Penny had even set up a tiny plastic tree in the corner near the fireplace, covered with fake silver icicles and every Disney character known to man. Dean half-expected some elf to come bounding down the hallway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk but all that happened was a rush of air coming out of Sam.

"She laid salt lines," Sam whispered, pointing down to his shoe. The line was so precise, Penny could have laid it with a ruler; not one grain out of place.

"Didn't use her chain," Dean observed. He'd have said more but the stretch of rustling fabric on the couch brought hands above their back holsters, each of them framing the door by taking a side. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, getting ready to make his move.

A tousled blonde head popped up over the folded afghan on the back of the couch. "Jesus!" Lynn Lucas snapped, frowning as Sam shut the door behind them. "Don't the two of you believe in phones?" she added. Her face flushed when Dean started kicking off his boots. "She's sick, Dean. If you think you're just going to waltz into her bed – " Lynn's face softened when their eyes met and she gulped. "You both look like hell."

"Long drive," Sam said, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it over the armchair.

"Where from?" Lynn glanced at Dean as he walked by, shaking her head and settling her attention on Sam. There was nothing keeping him from Penny Hillsworth now that he was standing in her living room, not even the ghost of every broken promise that followed him over the threshold. "A blizzard's heading in from the west," she added, face going gentle with concern. "You two didn't…" Lynn gasped.

"My brother's a lunatic," Sam confirmed.

"I think it's catching." Lynn gave a small laugh. "Well, since you're here, do you want hot chocolate…"

Their conversation drifted to whispers, unintelligible when Dean reached the bedroom. He twisted the doorknob, stepping over another salt line Penny had placed on the inside of the door, before setting his duffel on the floor. Dean started shucking out of his clothes, listening to wind whipping the snow up outside. The curtains above her bed were open, moonlight reflecting off the snow and lighting up the room like the sun was rising, and Penny stirred when he unzipped his pants.

A better man would have grabbed some blankets and headed for her bathtub but Dean slid under the covers. Penny rolled right into his arms, burrowing into his chest like she knew that he was there. Maybe she did, because a raspy sob escaped from her throat as she curled tight around him.

"Hey," he whispered sharply, a stab against the silence. Penny's body went stiff when she heard his voice. "You're crying all over me, for Christ's sa – "

Penny's head shot up and her eyes opened, a hand suddenly clutching each arm. She stared into his face with a twist to her mouth like she was still expecting to wake up, eyes blinking fast. He recognized the Metallica logo on her chest, a little piece of faith that he didn't merit, but he just grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up over her head. Penny shivered when he leaned down and started kissing her collarbone, her chest rattling as she breathed.

Penny Hillsworth smelled like goddamn lilacs, like she was standing in the back yard in Lawrence instead of laying underneath him wearing nothing but an amethyst on a chain.

Dean closed his eyes, inhaling the scent off the curve of her neck, and wrapped his fingers in her hair. Penny brought her hands down to his hips, opening her mouth underneath his as tangled fingers pulled through curls, but it wasn't enough to stop the Fury's voice.

_It was your father, Dean._

Dean recoiled – there might be something there if it was true because a man who left a partner to die could easily sacrifice a son for the good of the mission – but Penny's hands were stroking his hips; already guiding him right between her thighs. She lifted her hips slowly, drawing him inside unhurried inch by unhurried inch, until she quivered warm and wet and soft around his cock. "I've been missing you," she said, voice low and husky. She knotted her hands behind his neck, her back arching underneath him as they started rocking slowly against each other.

"I'm right here."

And that was their only preamble, shuddering skin to skin and falling into each other with a muted moan that was enough to silence the entire storm.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lynn was laughing loud enough for her voice to carry past the bedroom door, followed through the crack along the doorjamb by the smell of cooking bacon. Penny heard another voice talking animatedly, a story punctuated with low chuckles and a muffled rumble in a cadence she recognized as easily as one of her own brothers.

_Sam._

She sat up, curling her knees against her chest; back straight against the headboard. Even asleep, Dean looked exhausted – with darkened circles around his eyes and his mouth stretched into a thin line. Penny blinked; the last thing he needed was to see her bawling all over again because the smudges around his eyes were almost as stark as the freckles sprinkled across his nose. Last night had been bad enough; she hadn't realized it was _Dean_ crawling into her bed, caught up in the memory of him and the lingering scent on the pillow he always used.

It was like she was in junior high all over again, watching her brothers' faces for signs of bad news – except now the monsters were real, their existence etched in scars she'd traced with tongue and fingers, and even the losing battle against her mother's cancer was easier to fight. No amount of wishing could steel men against what lurked in the dark, the shadows where even memories teased.

Penny stared hard down at the foot of the bed, listening to the slow rhythm of Dean's breathing as he slept. _A lesser man would have taken one look at you and thrown you back in for something a little bigger._ It was true – but probably not the way he meant it. She was still trying to figure out how to help him but Dean Winchester was the one keeping an eye on her, showing up unannounced in her bed three days before Christmas; at least six feet of urgency and need, roaring through a blizzard to be with her.

"Your cousin screeches like a hyena." She turned to look at him. Dean was leaning up on one elbow. The grin she remembered plastered on his face. "Sam's probably deaf by now," he continued. "_I_ should be deaf, too, given how much the women in your family like to scream." His eyes were bright despite their circles and one hand was suddenly brushing down her arm like a dare.

Penny's laugh was choked by a cough, bent over with her fist cupped over her mouth. Dean wasn't grinning at her when she looked back at him. "It's just a bronchial infection," she explained. "And it's mostly gone by now. You can't catch it."

"I'm not worried about catching it," Dean snorted. "_Just_ a bronchial infection. You look like crap on toast, Short Stuff."

"That means so much coming from the man sporting those sexy circles under his eyes."

"Didn't say I looked any better."

Penny shook her head sharply, stopping herself from asking about the job. She used to drive Peter crazy with all of her questions, pouncing on him when he came back from academic conferences or a night out with his friends, and he'd get angry about her not trusting him. Penny didn't want to make that same mistake with Dean but it was hard not to say _something_ when he looked away so quickly; swallowing as he stared intently at the wall while his jaw worked.

"If we don't hurry," she said, "Lynn's going to eat all of the bacon." Penny winced before she even finished. _Fucking bacon?_ Dean was watching her like she was spawning another head.

"You ever heard of H. H. Holmes?" he asked.

"This is Chicago, Dean." Penny's stomach suddenly flopped up into her chest and she wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders because of the way they stiffened; Dean Winchester looked like he was close to breaking. "But I thought you were going to Philadelphia?" she added softly. "What does that have to do with H. H. Holmes?"

"That's where he was executed. Some idiot built apartments on top of the site and his ghost's been coming back to finish what he started. Jo fit the profile. She ended up getting kidnapped by him." His hand was on her arm.

"_Jo_?" Her throat was raw. It shouldn't have surprised her. Jo Harvelle was a trained hunter, could probably decapitate a zombie with a flick of her bar tray; Penny Hillsworth was the idiot who burned her arm carrying two bowls of oatmeal because she _forgot_ the tray. "Is she okay?" It was the only question Penny could think to ask that wasn't an accusation, her voice so shrill she wondered why her throat wasn't cracking.

"Angry's the word I'd use but she's…safe." A shadow crossed his face but he looked her right in the eye. Whatever Dean was trying to tell her wasn't something he was hiding but Penny didn't want to know the answer. It was about _Jo_. "She came after us. Made Ash set up a false trail and followed us to Philadelphia. I should have sent her ass home instead of letting her stay." He clutched her arm, his fingers white stripes in relief around her bicep. "Holmes was going after blondes. When she went missing, I…"

"Felt responsible?" she asked. Dean carried responsibility the way most people kept secrets, unspoken but always flickering just beneath the surface; burdens he nurtured for reasons Penny still didn't understand. She grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand, leaning down into him and pushing the kiss deep inside – hoping that he'd listen when she pulled away. "It was her decision, Dean, and she knew the risks."

"Ellen didn't quite see it that way. And Jo's not so keen on Winchesters anymore. She told me – " He finally let go of her arm. "I shouldn't be laying this crap on you. You're sick."

It was the most he had ever come out and said to her about the mistakes he had made but there were more burdens woven into what he didn't say – something about _Jo_, the way his eyes clouded when Dean said Jo's name. It was the same look he got whenever he was talking about Sam being the only family that Dean had left.

_Guilt._

She swallowed, bringing a hand down to brush through his hair. "It's not crap," Penny said softly. "And I'm not that sick." Dean snorted as she sucked in a breath, chest wheezing. "You have more important things to worry about than me," she added. "_Especially_ when you're working."

"So, uh…" Dean frowned when she started coughing.

"How bad was it?"

"Yeah."

"I started getting sick a day or two after I left Nebraska. I thought I had a cold, so I kept working on the proof for my thesis defense." Penny took a deep breath. "I fainted one night at my dad's house." Lynn would have no problem filling in any gaps that she conveniently missed if she didn't tell Dean the truth. "My father overreacted like he always does and took me to the emergency room."

The shadows darkened in his eyes and they stared each other down. "And you didn't think that was fucking important enough to call me about?" Dean finally hissed.

"Would you have interrupted your little ghost-hunting escapade with _Jo Harvelle_ because I had a _fever_?" she snapped. Penny wished she could take it back the moment she said it, watching his face crumple. She swallowed and touched his cheek. "They released me six hours later with a bunch of antibiotics," Penny added gently when he didn't pull away from her hand. "Lynn got the short straw and Dad forced her to stay with me. And he wasn't happy about having to pull string two weeks before Christmas to get my defense rescheduled. Thanks to him, I won't get to start my doctorate work until next fall."

"Penny – "

"I'm sorry." Penny's fingers swept across his mouth. "I… I wanted you here, but...how could I ask that when you were saving people's lives, Dean?" Her mouth twisted wryly. "The truth is, I'm just as hypocritical as Jo Harvelle – knowing the risks and saying that I accept them but if I really did…I wouldn't get upset about the things you need to do."

Dean started, eyes flickering to the wall and getting wider every time she mentioned Jo's name. She couldn't even manage an apology properly, bristling deep inside with the feeling that there was something Dean still wasn't telling her about Jo.

He shifted just enough so that he could rest his chin on her stomach and sighed loudly. "A freaking heads-up would've been nice," Dean said slowly, "Because I got lectured by your goddamn cousin and Lynn's worse than Sammy." And then he was grinning up at her, a lopsided apology. "At least _she's_ not fucking jealous of Jo."

"I'm not jealous!" Her cheeks burned.

Dean snorted, pushing himself up by the arms. "Liar." Before she could say anything, his mouth was circling her right nipple – sucking it into a point as he flicked against it with his tongue. Penny felt the draw right between her thighs when he slid a hand up to part the folds, slipping one finger against her clit with a rough chuckle that had her toes curling. "Seems to me like you're ready to be confined to your bed, Baby Doll."

"Take your best shot, Agent Han," Penny breathed, scratching lazy circles on his back.

"I'm not above pinning you to the mattress myself if that's what it takes."

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When they stumbled down the hallway and into the kitchen, Lynn was sitting at the small table laughing at Sam's goddamn story about the beer bottle back in Texas. Sam was making faces and doing a whole pantomime thing and Lynn only laughed louder when Dean slid into a chair across from Penny.

The whole thing sounded so normal that it should have made his teeth ache, listening to Sam go on about a practical joke with a beer bottle like he was still a college student – like it had nothing to do with tracking down some Tulpa and the two girls were listening to the story in some bar. The way Sam acted, handing Penny a plate of bacon and talking about nothing, Dad was still alive and Jo hadn't told them something about John Winchester that changed everything.

"My brother gets himself into some pretty stupid situations," Sam continued. "Like the time Penny beat him up with her umbrella because he couldn't keep his goddamn mouth shut. The look on his face when she hit him a second time should be on t-shirts or something."

"That's because she smacked me right into a freaking tree," Dean said. He shook his head, watching Lynn and Penny sneak a glance at each other before both of them started laughing again. Penny had to steady herself on the table with her elbows. "Come on, it was a lucky hit!"

"You keep telling yourself that, Mr. Hi, I'm Undercover – Here's My Phone Number." Penny smiled at him, handing him a platter of French toast. She made it so easy to forget the whole damn thing when she smiled, the same look in her eyes when she was writhing on top of him. There was always a lilt to her voice that told him a different truth, that a father's wishes and their family debts were already paid in full – had already been met by every person Sam and Dean Winchester saved since leaving Stanford. "And I did warn you," she added, following up the plate with some syrup.

"You scarred me for life," Dean replied sharply. Sam snorted and Dean turned on him. "Laugh it up, Sasquatch!"

Sam's shaggy head shook back and forth as he speared some French toast and slapped it down on his plate. "You're the one who blew our cover, Romeo," he retorted.

"You're the one who actually blew it, Agent _Luke_," Penny returned calmly, not even looking up from her plate as she cut a piece of French toast and slid it onto her fork. "Come on, Sam," she said, finally shooting a glance at his little brother. "Ford and Hamill? How often do those aliases work?"

Sam didn't say anything – just grinned at Penny sheepishly as he poured syrup on his food. It was Dean's turn to snort. "More often than you think, Short Stuff," he said. Her smile went soft at that and the only thing keeping Dean from dropping his fork when Penny's foot started sliding across his calf was the fact that kickass demon hunters didn't drop forks at breakfast like they were a kid. "People are damn gullible," he continued. "Even Sam can convince most people he's with the FBI. I mean, your _cousin_ believed him."

"I was in shock!" But Lynn was still laughing. "Some monster out of Penny's comic books had just attacked my roommate."

"No wonder you recognized Ford and Hamill." Dean retaliated by snaking his big toe up the inside of Penny's thigh, flipping up the edge of the Metallica t-shirt Penny had put back on after dragging him out of her bed for breakfast. He'd show her how the game was played. She didn't even flinch. "You're a fucking geek." Her green eyes narrowed but Penny was shifting forward on the chair. "Who would have thought I'd be banging a chick who reads comic books?" he added.

"Seems to me that endearing cracks like that make you pretty damn _lucky_ that any chick is banging you at all, Shotgun." Her voice was as tart as the lemon she was squeezing into her tea but Penny's eyes reminded him of that night back at Bobby's – and her smile was a dare, opening her thighs wider the closer his toe came to reaching its target. Dean returned her smile with a grin of his own; Penny Hillsworth wasn't wearing any fucking underwear, jumping backwards and smacking her left foot into the nearest table leg when his toe brushed against wiry hair. Dean chuckled, putting his foot back down on the ground.

"Are you two playing _footsie_?" Lynn demanded.

"Winchesters don't do footsie, sweetheart," Dean retorted instantly. Goddamn Sam was actually _cackling_. "It's called ankle wrestling."

"Ankle wrestling?" Lynn looked unconvinced.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. Penny was flushed, her hand inching towards his across the table. "Penny's pretty vicious," he added, grimacing a little when Penny started spreading his fingers wide to slip hers inside. Sam was staring at that so hard, he stopped laughing; goddamn Dean Winchester holding hands over some hinky French toast breakfast with a chick. "Scratched me all over the place with her mutant toes." Dean made to pull back the tablecloth.

"Not really interested in seeing your hairy legs, Dean Winchester." Lynn's blue eyes twinkled just as much as Penny's did when she was amused. "But I'm guessing there are four brothers who'd probably love learning how _you_ ankle wrestle."

"Only four?" Dean managed. He sure as hell hoped the Hillsworths didn't play football in the snow because he was going to be fucked – and not by their little sister – when they figured out that ankle wrestling was just a clever way of playing with Penny Hillsworth underneath the dining room table.

Lynn shrugged her shoulders. "Tommy says you make Penny happy and that was all Daniel needed to hear." She smiled sweetly at Penny. "He's going to have to do something more amazing than ankle wrestling to impress the rest of them at the party."

"We're not going," Penny said, back going stiff as she settled into her chair. "Even Mom hated those parties and she was the only reason I'd ever go once I moved out." Lynn made a face. "I'm serious," Penny added, her fingers so tight around Dean's that her knuckles were turning white. "I don't know how long Sam and Dean can stay and I'm not putting them through _that_. Dad's questions after the barbecue were bad enough."

"Last time I checked, I'm old enough to handle anything your dad can throw at me," Dean drawled. Penny's head rounded on him, eyes angry. He wasn't about to tell her why; he'd learned deception at the hands of a master, how to bluff and how to make the lie so real even you believed it was the truth.

_Why do you think John never came back? Never told you about us? Because he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why._

Dean swallowed.

"Do you honestly want to spend hours dressed up in silly Victorian clothes while my dad pretends to be lord of some English manor with his lawyer friends?" Penny retorted, but her eyes had softened – catching hold of something inside his own with a small frown. That didn't keep the damn girl from talking. "He even makes sure we all go in authentic costumes. It sucks. The boys get starched collars but Lynn and I both have to wear corsets!"

"_Corsets_?" He blinked. A vision of Penny in a white corset flittering across the back of his eyelids – her eyes liquid green when he thrust inside of her, looking up into his face like the world was just the two of them while she scratched her nails down his back. It'd be just like that hallucination he had after she knocked him out with her umbrella, except that it'd be _Penny_ arching into his hips and crying out his name and not some chick in his head. He grinned at her. "I could wear a starched collar for one night if you're wearing a corset."

"Why am I not surprised?" There was a tilt to Penny's mouth but her hand held onto his even more tightly than before. A small smile flickered across her face. "Just remember you said that after you start getting a rash." She lowered her eyes, voice going husky from something besides her infection. "But my dad won't let me go if he thinks I'm still sick. He's afraid I'll…" Penny picked up her fork with her free hand, tapping its end on the table slowly. Her cheeks flushed all over again.

"Like I said," he growled, "I'm not above pinning you to the bed if that's what it takes to make you rest, Baby Doll." Lynn made a noise in the back of her throat, before grabbing the bottle of syrup and pouring some on her already drenched French toast.

"Your chivalry is duly noted," Penny answered, eyes down-turned demurely as she sipped her orange juice.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean Winchester's definition of bed rest would never make it into a medical journal but it beat her cousin's trays of ginger ale, tomato soup and oyster crackers – especially when his voice was rumbling through her back, his fingers the spark that arched through her as she bent into him.

It was always easier to sleep when he was there, waking up with Dean's arm flung haphazardly across her face or feeling the pressure from the one leg he hooked around her thighs when she drifted backwards against him. His big hands would splay across her belly or on her hips, intertwined with her fingers, and she'd just listen to him breathe. The wisp of air hot against the back of her neck and skin growing slick from sweat where they touched – back to chest, thigh to thigh, hand to palm.

He didn't make her feel safe. Dean Winchester lived in a world where last conversations were gifts and Penny Hillsworth needed to be strong enough to deal with his long stretches of silence and new bruises without breaking into pieces like she'd been doing since she left the Roadhouse. Ellen Harvelle had told her that, cornering her over a basket of hot wings with a warning bend to her mouth and a lecture about the kind of woman a hunter needs, but it was Bobby Singer's gravel-kissed voice that made her remember what she'd forgotten.

_Some things out there are stronger than luck._

It was time to stop acting like she was ten.

"Dean," Penny whispered gently. "Are you awake?"

"No." His voice was rough in her ear, hands curling around her hips. "I'm having this dream about some hot chick waking me up for sex." His lips left a sizzling mark on her shoulder as his arms tightened. "But even my goddamn brain hates me. You're a shrimp." Dean chuckled sleepily. "Now I know why you're always trying to save them." One hand trailed up her hip, curving around a breast and brushing the nipple with his palm.

Penny sighed, leaning into the warmth of him, and every thing she wanted to say boiled down to the simplest statement underneath the slow pressure of his fingers. "You were right." It didn't surprise her when the words came out in a whisper but she took a deep breath and continued. "I'm jealous of Jo."

Dean didn't say anything for a long time, rubbing her stomach with his other hand while he traced slow circles around her areola with his fingers – her skin crinkling against the rough whorls on his fingertips. Penny listened to him breathe, wondering if he'd heard her after all, but then there was a shiver and a sigh. "Nothing to be jealous about, Baby Doll," he said. She must have imagined the hitch in his voice because his lips were on her neck, tongue flicking against her pulse, and she was the one who shivered when the hand on her hip tightened.

Penny finally found her voice when their breathing slowed down, her fingers stroking the hand that Dean was still using to circle her nipples. "It's hard, sometimes. Just looking at yourself and seeing all the places where you're _wanting_."

_Do you have any idea how disappointed your mother would be by the mess you've made of your life?_

She sucked in a breath when he scratched her hip lightly down to her thigh. "But Jo? She knows enough to go on jobs with you. If I could do that, maybe I could really help you instead of just being the girl who brings you oatmeal."

Dean took a ragged breath and stopped scratching. The edges of his nails pricked into her hip and there was an ache from his hand digging into muscles. "You're _never_ coming with me on a job," he murmured into her hair. Penny closed her eyes, expecting the shift between them as he rolled her onto her back – the way he'd follow up every pronouncement he made by pushing between her legs, all those unspoken promises they moaned into each others' mouth – but Dean just pulled her closer. "Penny, I…" She heard his swallow over the hum of the heater.

Her throat hurt. "Me, neither," Penny managed to whisper. His hands were soft and slow like she was some delicate thing he was going to break and even the brush of his lips on the back of her ear was gentle – just enough air against the hairs to make her shiver backwards into his arms. "I can't lose you, Dean."

Another torn breath dragged out of both of them. Dean's hands were firmly on her hips as she wrapped her fingers through his and, suddenly, there was a smile curving against her neck. "That bronchial thing's really made you goddamn emo," Dean drawled as he unhooked his leg from across her thighs. "You're just lucky it's too late to throw you back in, Penny, because you made me fucking _spoon_."

"You ass," Penny retorted. Dean cackled as she twisted to face him, burying her head into the space between his chin and his shoulder blade while her arms settled around his neck.

"At least you're not coughing anymore like some old dude with emphysema." Dean's grin was bright in the light filtering past the curtains. "Because that was all kinds of attractive, wondering what you were going to hack up ne – " His eyes widened when Penny abruptly pushed him backwards onto the mattress with a hand on both shoulders and straddled him, mouth coming down hard on his. He was grinning all over again when she pulled up to look at him, his big hands tracing the muscles on her back as she arched up into their coarse lines. "You think you're big enough to pin me to the mattress, PeeWee?"

"_PeeWee_?"

"You've got that whole 'waking me out of a dead sleep' thing to answer for before I let you pull out that rope you're always _promising_ to use on me."

"This would be much easier on me if you knew when to shut up, Dean."

He chuckled, wrapping his hands into her hair, and pulled her back down. "But not as much fun," Dean whispered against her lips before launching into something in Latin.

She hoped it wasn't a prayer because she was already closing her eyes and giving herself up to his voice, tremors building from his mouth kissing a wet trail around her nipples – skin creasing against his tongue while insistent fingers marked his territory, sliding up between her legs in one quick pass. Penny moaned, quivering all the way down to her curled toes.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean was standing next to the fireplace, back against the wall as he warily eyed the room.

He was stuck in Charles Dickens' Yuletide wet dream – as close to Hell as someone could get with gas-powered lights hung on the walls and tables full of food. There was even a goddamn fire roaring in the fireplace and people standing around a piano singing freaking Christmas carols.

Experience should have taught him to believe in Penny Hillsworth because every single person at the party was wearing some kind of old-time outfit, down to the little kids dancing around her while she doled out punch. Part of him thought she was pulling his leg about the costumes because fantasies – even the fucked up Freudian ones – had a way of falling by the wayside when you were a Winchester but there she was, sporting a tight yellow dress that should that should have been illegal to wear in public. The skirt was so wide, a man could do things underneath it and no one would even know he was there.

Sam was standing next to her, passing out punch and helping Penny refill the glasses, both of them smiling at everyone who stopped by to grab something to drink. Geek Boy loved Christmas enough to dress up like an ass for it.

Dean snorted. Sam had gone whole hog into the Dickens' thing, even parting his hair down the middle of his head and slicking it flat with hair gel. He'd used a frigging ruler to fix the part and all he needed was a straightjacket and some glasses and Sammy could have passed for _Renfield_ in that Mel Brooks' movie – except that Sam was making easy conversation with every person who took a glass from his side of the table, entire body at ease as he laughed at a stranger's jokes.

The only thing keeping Dean in his Prancy-Dancy monkey suit was a pretty girl in a corset.

Penny smiled at him and he grimaced back, tugging on his collar. The whole thing was a stupid idea, thinking he could fit in by dressing up like some reject from a historical chick flick. His goddamn jacket stopped two inches from his wrists and even Joe, the older brother dressed like a chimney-sweeping Mary Poppins' reject, had laughed when Dean waltzed into the living room next to Penny and Sam.

_Girl's an accident, son. A distraction. You're just wasting time when you should be saving your brother._

He fit in her world worse than she fit in his.

Dean gulped, striding across the room and neatly sidestepping a group of older women who had been watching with hungry eyes and loose-lipped smiles. He walked right up to the punch table, picked up a glass and drained it without saying a word. It actually tasted pretty good for some Sprite Sam had slapped a box of sherbet into and Dean coughed, putting the cup out in front of him with a grin and a glance at his little brother.

"Please, miss," he said loudly when he had Penny's attention, "May I have some more?"

She grabbed his glass with one gloved hand and bent over the punch bowl, green eyes narrowing when she realized exactly where Dean was staring. He couldn't help himself; Penny's goddamn corset pushed her tits up into all the right places and she was just lucky he wasn't ramming her against the wall and licking a stripe down her cleavage in front of the entire room. That'd take their minds off of everything but each other, just like they'd been doing since he crawled into her bed blizzard-chased and bone-tired.

The voices were always quiet when it was just the two of them, no promises to break and no vows needing to be forgiven – just the sound of her breathing and the way her eyes looked when she laughed.

Dean took the glass back without a word and one of those kids whose names he'd already forgotten was staring up at him like he was the Antichrist. "You didn't thank Auntie Penny," she said in a strained voice.

Sam chuckled. "That's because Dean is a philistine, Jenna."

"Don't confuse the kid with big words only you understand, Geek Boy," Dean retorted. He smiled down at Jenna. "You can tell him that he talks too much. I do it all the time." Jenna didn't return the smile, just glared at him with a variation of those green eyes that marked every single one of Penny's siblings as part of a pack.

_Jesus Christ._

Dean sighed. "Thank you, _Auntie_ Penny." Jenna smiled brightly, watching Dean take a sip of his punch. He stuck out his little pinky just like the white-haired old lady standing next to him was doing, winking at the kid when she giggled behind her hands. Sam made a strangled noise in his throat but Penny's eyes made up for the momentary discomfort of looking like a jackass.

"You're _quite_ welcome, Dean," Penny replied airily, "But you're not much of a philistine if you can quote _Oliver Twist_."

"Oliver what?" Dean scratched underneath his ear. Even the old lady was looking at Dean like she was interested in what he was saying. "That was just something from a freaking musical Samantha was in back in grade school. You wouldn't know it to look at him now but Sammy was quite the twinkle toes in his ballet slippers. He could even yodel like a little pipsqueak before his voice changed."

Sam sighed loudly. "Bite me, Dean."

Dean ignored him, pitching his voice high. "Consider yourself part of whatever the hell it is," he sang in a falsetto, making it sound as off-key as he could and smashing the syllables together to approximate the tune. "That song just gets me every time, Sam. Right here." He thumped a hand against his chest.

Penny leaned up against the wall with her arms wrapped around her stomach. "Oh, God!" she whimpered, stopping just long enough in her laughing fit to stare him right in the eyes. "You…are a philistine!" She doubled over with a belly laugh that blew right through him. "That's _Oliver_!"

"So?" Dean asked when their eyes met. _The way you look in your corset better be freaking worth it._ But damn if she didn't make him feel like himself when she pursed her mouth all of a sudden.

"_Oliver_ is the musical version of _Oliver Twist_, you moron," Sam said, not able to hide his grin.

Dean snorted. "Don't be such a frigging drama queen, Sam."

"Jerk."

"Bi – "

"Penelope!" A voice roared across the living room, cutting Dean off, and the crowd parted around Winston Hillsworth as he made his wove his way to the punch table.

"Crap," Penny muttered. Dean hoped he was imagining the way she looked at him, a flush creeping up her cheeks and eyes going wide when her eyes focused on the two inches of bare skin above his sleeve.

"We're out of cheese," her father said when he stumbled into earshot. His cheeks were just as red as his daughter's, set off by the gray hair of his wig fringing around his neck and collar. "Why don't you fill up the trays for me?"

"Couldn't you ask Lynn?" Penny's breath came out in a huff and Dean recognized the glimmer of disappointment in Winston Hillsworth's eyes when they flashed at her. "I don't want to leave my friends, Dad."

"I'm sure your _guests_ can manage serving punch by themselves," Winston retorted. "They both look like capable _boys_." The damn idiot was giving them the once over with a sneer and Penny's head shot up so quickly, Dean heard the snap in her neck.

_I don't know how long Sam and Dean can stay and I'm not putting them through that. Dad's questions after the barbecue were bad enough._

Her chest was heaving as she took a breath but Dean didn't need Penny to defend him. "The last person to call me – " Dean began. Sam's cough sounded harder than a bullet – that noise and the kid staring up at him like he was killing something made him shut his mouth with an audible snap.

"I can handle the punch," Sam said gently, touching Penny's fingers while they rested on the ladle.

"I never doubted it, Sam." Penny's voice was softer than he'd thought it should be, given the way she looked like she wanted to kick her own dad's ass. She walked around the table and linked her arm loosely through Dean's. "Would you do me the great honor of fetching the cheese trays with me, Mr. Winchester? I suspect that you are more adept with cutting implements than most men in this room can boast." She brushed her fingertips against his wrist. "I would be doing the party a grave injustice if I were I to leave you here unattended. How could I live with myself were you to begin singing once more?"

Winston Hillsworth recoiled almost as much as Dean did when she stood up to kiss Dean's cheek, everything the man wouldn't say locked in a grim frown and a father's eyes.

"There's already someone waiting to help you." Winston's frown deepened, his cheeks going a bright red that had nothing to do with the glass he plucked off a passing tray. "All you need to do is swallow your pride, Penny." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Peter wants to start over," he added, flashing a sly glance at Dean.

Dean had been judged enough times to know he'd been sized up and discarded.

And her father was right. He had seen Penny with her nieces and nephews, the way she'd pick those kids up in her arms and laugh or tell stories on blankets during a barbecue or dance around the punch table with them. It's not like he was some kind of prize – with all those promises he couldn't keep and the secrets he kept too well hidden – and the only difference between Penny Hillsworth and Cassie Robinson was that it was taking Penny longer to figure it out.

_You know what? I'm a realist. I don't see much hope for us, Dean._

But Dean didn't resist when Penny snorted at her father and dragged him behind her, smoothly disentangling their arms and stacking empty cheese trays in his hands while her father _watched_.

"My dad is a jerk even when he's _not_ drinking," she apologized, saying it over her shoulder as soon as they hit the hallway into the kitchen. Penny shook her head, fake curls falling down onto the curve of her neck. She had pinned it up with tiny white roses, their scent mingling with the lilac perfume she always wore. Dean swallowed. "I can't believe he invited that asshole," she continued.

"Wait a minute…" Dean's eyes narrowed, remembering a pansy accent. _Are you the one fucking her, or are you the one who takes the pictures?_ "That's the ass from the wings place. You want me to take him out to your playhouse and beat the crap out of him?"

"Only if he misbehaves," Penny returned with a lopsided grin.

Dean stooped to kiss her himself but she was already handing him a knife and pulling blocks of cheese out of the large refrigerator. When she was done, the door slammed shut and Penny brought one hand up to a smiling woman's picture – her hair the exact same color as her daughter's, except that it was tinged with gray and starting to thin. Penny was standing behind her, arms thrown around her mother's neck with her nose burrowed into the curls and both eyebrows raised.

He could almost hear them both laughing.

"You know," Penny said gently, brushing the picture with her fingers, "Mom would have loved you." She grinned suddenly. "Hillsworth women are hot for heroes. I'm just lucky you don't like blondes," she said flippantly.

Dean raised his eyebrows, staring right back at her.

"Okay…" he breathed finally. "She's a hunter's daughter, Penny. She knows…the life…and, well…it's something we share." Someone must have spiked the goddamn punch because there was no way in hell his mouth would just start talking like this independently of his brain; he'd kept secrets too long to be taken in by a pretty girl's green eyes going so dark that it made his chest crack. "I didn't screw her… Just used…my fingers."

It was more than he was going to say and suddenly all he could do was start chopping cheese as fast as he could because he'd just fucked up the whole goddamn thing, broke it into so many pieces even he couldn't glue it back together like he did with his dad after Sammy left for Stanford or with Sam when Jess died.

"I was talking about _Lynn_." Dean could barely hear Penny over the tock of the knife into the cutting board. She flexed her hands in front of her on the counter, her shoulders sagging as she lowered her head. "But that explains why you look at the wall every time I say her name."

"That – " Dean slammed down the knife and grabbed her wrist. Penny didn't even try to tug away, just stiffened her arm before her hand relaxed under his grip. "Jo and me?" He shook his head sharply. It didn't even sound right thinking it, not anymore. "That was…before…you."

"Oh." Penny glanced at him with a ragged breath before staring down at her other hand, nails scratching slowly against the counter. "But then why are you acting like…" Her voice trailed off.

"I told her something about my dad." The words ripped themselves past his vocal chords.

"And?" Her voice actually trembled but Penny turned to look him full in the face.

_And she fucking took him away from me._

Dean took a breath. "And that's not enough?" he demanded. Penny looked like he'd slapped her when the words registered. "Made a promise," Dean began. He coughed. "When I took your keys. But she caught me off guard and I…"

"Dean…" Penny was holding her stomach, rubbing her upper arms as she watched him. "It's just that we never…" She turned to stare at something out the window. "I'm not really good…with trust…"

"Maybe that's the smart thing." Dean Winchester was probably going to have to kill his baby brother some day, or he'd be breaking a promise made to his father on the day he died. And if he killed Sam, he'd be breaking the one he made to his mother while she burned to death in a big green house. "Maybe you shouldn't trust me," he added.

"Maybe we should go home," Penny returned softly. "If you can forgive me."

Dean let go of her wrist. "For what?" he asked but it was Cassie he was hearing when he closed his eyes.

_Oh, whenever we get – what's the word, close? Anywhere in the neighborhood of emotional vulnerability, you back off. Or make some joke, or find any way to shut the door on me._

But goddamn Penny Hillsworth had given him the key to the door and he'd still played her false in all the ways that mattered, in how much she wasn't really getting; it wasn't her fault for being smart enough to pick up on it. His laugh was hard when it came out of his throat. "For _what_, Penny?"

"For…" she started, bringing one hand behind his neck. Dean felt her draw up beside him, leaning into his chest, before her lips brushed against his.

He should have just pushed away because things had already gone too far but his hands started circling her waist all on their own. The next thing Dean knew, he was picking her up and slamming her onto the counter, tongue fucking her mouth as fast as he could while Penny moaned into his. The clang of metal collided with the cutting board but Penny's arms were snaking around his neck and he had a straight shot down her corset; the curve of her breasts was so close he dipped his lips down between them – licking the stripe he should have dared in the living room.

Anything else they might have said was lost in the way her fingers dug into his arms and he started pushing his tongue down between the taut fabric and her skin to see if he could reach a nipple.

But neither of them realized the cheese was on the floor until a screech echoed throughout the kitchen, telling anyone within two blocks that Penelope Cecilia Hillsworth was an embarrassment two years running.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The first time Dad caught her kissing someone, Penny was fourteen.

Mom had collapsed when they were visiting the Dells and their vacation had turned into days and nights spent in a Pepto-Bismol pink waiting room, all of them taking naps in the hospital chapel. Lucky for her, there'd been some guy there named Mark who was hanging around smoking out in a back alley when she stumbled outside, sick of listening to the doctors talking to her dad. It turned out that Mark's father was in an accident and misery loved company.

After three days of sharing cigarettes and sunburns and bottles of iced tea together, kissing him didn't seem like that big a deal. It wasn't like he was the first boy she'd ever kissed – even if he did things that made her heart skip a couple of beats – and there wasn't any way she was letting it go farther than that.

But Dad had turned a corner to find them clutching each other like they were the last two teenagers in the world, Mark's hands cradling her back from underneath her shirt while she straddled him on the stairs.

Dad had actually been more pissed about the cigarettes scattered around them when he dragged her back to the waiting room, telling her he shouldn't have to explain to her that smoking caused cancer and Penelope Cecilia Hillsworth knew enough about that not to be so stupid.

If you substituted a dead mother for a dying one and sex for smoking, it was pretty much the same speech – except that Dad was swaying due to one too many cocktails and the only urgency in his voice was from embarrassment. Penny slipped off the counter and walked away, dragging Dean behind her before Dad could bring him into the argument; Daniel and Bill were there to run interference and Penny headed upstairs to get their coats out of her old room while Dean went outside to warm up the Impala and round up Lynn and Sam.

There was no way in hell she was putting Dean through one of Winston Hillsworth's drunken tirades.

The whole thing in the kitchen was her fault, between Dad finding them and Dean looking like he was going to shatter into so many jagged pieces because she was a screwed-up girl who couldn't stop being jealous about some blonde barmaid in Nebraska. Tommy was always telling her that Karma was a bitch and it seemed pretty fair, looking at her scorecard, for Penny Hillsworth to be on the receiving end of what she'd done to Peter Harcourt.

And Dean had acted so guilty – going white whenever she said Jo's name and dragging her to bed at every opportunity – that it seemed like the obvious conclusion no matter how much Penny tried to convince herself otherwise. Maybe it'd be different if they'd said something. It's not like they really made any promises. There were no expectations, really, even if he'd given her a protective charm and she'd given him a set of keys and she might have said she loved him but that didn't seem to mean much in her fucked-up brain.

_Made a promise. When I took your keys. But she caught me off guard and I…_

Penny shook her head sharply and grabbed all four of their coats. Two sharp taps echoed through the room and Penny trotted across the bedroom as the door opened; she didn't want him to see all of the awkward things her mother had kept since Penny was in high school – Cecily Hillsworth's shrine to a girl who stored every science project and bought the biggest periodic table she could find at the museum. "Dean – "

It was Patrick, looking chagrined in his middle class gentleman's outfit. "Expecting someone else?" he managed. Patrick was using the voice that he pulled out most recently on Lynn, when she was shaking in the hospital and crying into his shoulder about things that crept across campus.

Penny's eyes narrowed. "Are you here as my brother or in a professional capacity?"

"Penny…" He frowned. "Dad's downstairs working his way to another heart attack. Did you have to bring…them?" Patrick spat out the word like it was something dirty, something to get over with before moving on to the rest of the conversation.

"Yes!" Penny frowned right back at him. "Sam and Dean are my _friends_ and they're staying with me while they're in town. Tommy invited his new _boyfriend_ and Dad didn't invite Chuck." Her breath came out in a huff. "But that didn't keep him from inviting Peter. He even wanted me to ditch Sam and Dean at the punch table while Peter helped me with the cheese."

"So your way of getting back at Dad was to start making out with your _friend_ Dean in full view of his grandchildren?" His eyes softened but his voice was hard. "Is he another one of your…"

"One of my what, Patrick?" Patrick looked down at the ground. They both knew what he was asking; the only difference between her brother and her father was that Patrick wasn't crass enough – or just wasn't drunk enough, he _was_ a Hillsworth – to finish it. "Is Dean one of my boys?" Someone she followed into dark rooms, college boys with enough drugs and alcohol to last until morning in their private little pocket of sex and sweat and suffering.

He didn't answer.

"Here's a news flash," she snapped. "There haven't been any _boys_ since the hospital. Not one. And Dean?" Penny didn't care if Patrick saw the tears in her eyes but she sure as hell wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of actually crying. "He's the first decent _man_ I've known."

She didn't deserve him.

Even now, almost one year gone from the girl who woke up from her own long sleep, Penny Hillsworth didn't deserve him. She'd somehow managed to throw herself back into life but she wasn't using any kind of compass to guide her. Dean Winchester just appeared out of nowhere, showing up with rain and thunder at his back to save her. And how did she thank him? With a home run swing that knocked him into a tree.

Maybe Dean was right and she was already running – just not for the reasons he thought.

"So you two are serious?" Patrick's eyes widened and he looked like he did every time Jenny pulled off another surprise birthday party.

"I…"

They were as serious as two people who met because of a pouka could be, never making promises in words and only seeing each other when he'd blow into town unannounced or she got scared and chased him to Nebraska. She laid salt lines every night so the demons couldn't come into her apartment and she waited for phone calls in the middle of the night that never came. He made her pancakes with chocolate chips in them but he always kept a gun on the nightstand and a knife underneath his pillow while he slept.

Penny took a breath, hitching the coats up in her arms so that she could smell Dean's leather jacket.

"That wasn't a trick question, PenPen."

"Fuck you, Patty!" Penny wanted to throw the coats right at his face, wiping away his smug little smile. She was sick of being told that he was the oldest and that meant Patrick David Hillsworth was always right. "You don't think I want more?" If someone gave her a bowl full of wishes, all but one would be for Dean. "You don't think I wish that things were different?" She'd start with the demon, the one that killed his mother; the one that killed all those mothers, six generations back if Sam's research was true. "There are so many things I would change if I could change them," she added. "But – "

There was a brisk knock on the door and it slammed open. Patrick started when the doorknob slapped into the wall and Dean was staring into the room at them. At least Patrick had the grace to blush but all Penny could do was swallow. There was no telling how much he had heard, white-faced and clenching his fists.

"Car's warmed up," Dean said. "Your cousin's ready."

"Okay." Penny clutched their coats tightly. Dean turned on his heel and stomped down the hall. She gave Patrick one look over her shoulder and followed Dean down the hall. Maybe her brother was trying to figure out what kind of man warmed up the car for his baby sister but Penny doubted it, remembering the glower on Patrick's face before she left the room.

"Hey," she said softly. "Do you need anything before we leave?"

"I just need to get the hell out of here," he muttered, stalking down the stairs.

Penny would have dropped the coats if she thought she could reach him in time but he was already turning to meet her father's voice as it roared out of the foyer by the time she reached the top of the stairs.

Dad was yelling at Tommy for not keeping his twin sister from embarrassing the whole family by screwing her latest boy on her dead mother's antique cheese trays.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Penny wasn't used to silences that ached.

When Hillsworths fought, they screamed until there was nothing left to say and then yelled some more in case something new came out of their mouths – an accidental insult that won the argument. Dean hadn't said a word since they pulled out onto the road, folding up into himself and leaning down to turn on the radio. The only sound in the car once they hit the highway was the way their breathing acted as counterpoint to the Metallica echoing back at them off the windows. She didn't even hear other cars outside.

She guessed Sam and Lynn weren't saying anything because they were silent witnesses to everything, when Dad went crazy and when Dean wouldn't even touch her hand on the way out.

And when Penny stumbled getting into the car, it was Sam who grabbed her elbow.

She sighed, resting her head on the window. The lights outside were a blur and Lynn snuck out her hand, wrapping it around Penny's arm. She tried to smile back when Sam turned around and smiled at her, pointedly looking at his brother before he faced the front window. Dean just clenched his jaw and his hands held onto the steering wheel like it was a lifeline. He kept his eyes on the road – couldn't even look at her like that night in the bar, when Peter started telling the truth about Penny Hillsworth and the parties she liked to attend.

That was nothing compared to Dad cornering them in the foyer.

_I just want a daughter I can be proud of again, Penelope. Is that too much to ask?_

She hadn't seen Dad that angry since she'd collapsed in his living room and ended up in the emergency room – red and livid and accusing her of not taking care of herself _again_, even though she had a record of a month's test in her blood sugar monitor. He wasn't like that before, even when Mom was dying and Penny went on sabbatical – when Penny put her future on hold to help him take care of Mom, hours reading those romance novels Mom loved so much while Mom clutched at her hand; only taking pills for the pain when even touching hurt.

Some days, Penny wondered why she still didn't have the bruises.

They dropped Lynn off at her place and Penny wasn't surprised when Sam suddenly hopped out after her with an apologetic glance at Dean. The way Dean was still staring out the front window, Penny figured Sam was just getting the hell out of Dodge before the storm in Dean's lean frame let loose.

Dean was quiet until they were standing in her bedroom, following her down the hall with a measured cadence to his breathing that sounded more relaxed than he looked when their eyes met. She couldn't say anything. How could she? Penny Hillsworth had all but accused him of screwing Jo Harvelle for three days. He had every right to look at her like that.

"Fuck this," he said finally, voice so sharp that it cut. "I…" His voice trailed off as Dean turned his gaze to the ground. "I don't blame you."

"Blame me?"

"The whole Jo thing." Dean said it without stammering, the words getting louder as his fists clenched. "You shouldn't trust me." And they way he suddenly stared at her, Penny knew it was a warning – wild and roaring through her chest when he knelt down and started putting the clothes he'd strewn all over the floor into his duffel bag. "Don't even trust myself, Penny. Why should you?"

_Maybe that's the smart thing._

"Because I'm an idiot!"

"No arguments there." He sounded so tired, shoulders sagging, but he didn't stop shoving his clothes into place. "Giving me keys."

"Jackass!" It came out like a shotgun shell, rough enough to land right between his shoulders. Dean's back stiffened but he swerved his head up to look right at her, eyes narrowing when he saw her face. "I was jealous, Dean. And I'm the one who fucked anything that asked when I was dating someone else. If you had screwed Jo in Philadelphia, I deserved it." Penny wished her voice didn't crack but that didn't keep her from stopping. "_Punishment_."

Dean's body shifted, like he was getting ready to grab her, but then he looked away again; zipping his bag closed. "Didn't trust you enough," he said, voice so gruff it ached against each rib. "Not about the things that _mattered_. Because you had fancy parties and your electron microscope and those six brothers who protect you." He stood up, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. "All I've got are twenty guns and a forty-year old car and my baby brother."

It was everything she expected to hear some day, that she wasn't good enough because she couldn't tell a ghost from a goblin. Penny took a breath, waiting for the prickle that followed the hair standing up on her arms; waiting for her father's voice in her head to tell her she messed up again. But none of that mattered. Dean Winchester was getting ready to walk out of her bedroom and there was nothing she could say that was going to make him stay.

_I just need to get the hell out of here._

Penny stumbled backwards when Dean started rummaging in his pocket, her hands stopping on the top of the dresser by her bed. She scrabbled to open the top drawer, seeing the glint in Dean's hand, and pulled out the Christmas present she tucked away for him there while Dean was taking a shower earlier.

"I should…" His voice trailed off to the jingle of two keys.

She pitched the coil of rope right at Dean's chest, heard the keys drop as he instinctively brought both hands up to catch it. "Use it, Dean." Penny couldn't take her eyes off his face, wishing she could cross the room and start kissing his jaw line. "On _me_."

It was fucked up as all hell and she goddamn knew it.

Patrick wouldn't tell Dad anything if he knew that his baby sister had just told a man to tie her up and screw her senseless but he'd look at her with their mother's eyes, wondering if she was still laying broken on a desk in Sigma Chi's study having three frat boys filling up every empty hole that still bled inside. And Dr. Tripasian could feature Penny Hillsworth in her latest book, doing something with her scribbled notes and unending litany of questions, but all those words were just getting in the way of the important ones – why Dean and why now and what the hell was she going to do if he left.

_I carry your heart with me…_

Penny took a deep breath when his fingers closed around the coil, knuckles white. As white as the knuckles on her father's hand, the first thing she saw when she woke up in the hospital; clenched into a fist but broken all the same. _Here is the deepest secret nobody knows._ She swallowed, waiting, but the only voice she heard inside was her mother's. _And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart._ Dean's eyes softened and the duffel slid off his shoulder and down to the floor when he threw the rope onto the bed.

_I carry it in my heart._

Dean slammed his mouth down onto hers, hands fumbling at the trail of buttons down her back. "Screw this," he whispered against her lips, finding the button at her waist and pulling it off with a pop. Her skirt rustled to the floor and Dean didn't waste any time pushing the underskirt off, slipping one hand between her leg and a garter before tugging at the bottom of her bodice. He ripped, a shower of fake pearls hitting walls and thumping onto the carpet around them.

He pushed her backwards. "Get up near the headboard," Dean commanded, whipping a switchblade out of some hidden sheath secreted away under the stupid outfit they had borrowed from Tommy. The cuff on his sleeve didn't even come down to his wrists. Penny did as he said, pushing towards the headboard by shimmying her hips until he smiled. "And put your hands over your head." The lights from outside glinted against the small handle, the entire knife dwarfed by his hand when it was closed.

Dean measured out a length of rope, the blade snicking open and through the braid. He knotted the rope around both wrists, instead of separating them like she expected, and raised her arms so that he could loop the rope around the central ornament on her headboard – half-raising her torso from off the comforter. Then he was pressing her ankles together, keeping her boots on and knotting another piece of rope so tightly the leather squeaked when her feet twitched.

He drew the blade down the leather from ankle to heel, slowly, and his mouth pursed; eyes going wide when she smiled up at him. The blade came up, whisking through the first cross of the cord in her corset. Dean brought his lips down, kissing the exposed skin before running his tongue up underneath the next cross. He cut each one, taking his time as he pressed knees down on hers and licked his way up to her neck; pulling open the corset once each stay was cut and rubbing the tips of her breasts with his palms until her nipples throbbed and she arched up to feel more than just the millimeters of skin passing with an ache across hers.

The hilt of the knife was warm in his hands, trailing down between her breasts and across her belly until it hit the waistband of her underwear. It had been Lynn's idea to wear the garter belt, with a knowing wag of her eyebrows – and a comment about Dean, his boots and a hallway. Penny gasped when she heard the rip of the blade through the elastic, felt the first hint of air against her exposed pussy as Dean pulled the ruined scrap away from her body.

A spray of goose bumps rained across her abdomen, springing up all along her thighs, when Dean touched the hilt to her clit. "Lower," she murmured, eyes locked on his as she pressed her knees down onto the mattress.

"Jesus, Penny…" His voice was rough and he pushed the tip of the hilt through the swell of flesh surrounding her cunt. "You'd let me…"

_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows._

Penny bucked up her hips slowly, the only offering she could make when his eyes shimmered like they were going to fracture.

"_Yes_."

She gave a sigh but the knife was gone, just a thump on the floor replaced by three fingers. Dean's lips were tight on hers, capturing every groan she made with his mouth. Penny thrust her tongue against his in time to his fingers, hitching up against the rope with a small cry when he started pulling away; trying to grab his lower lip between hers, whimpering when his breath was hot against her clit.

"God, you're already soaking wet." Her eyes were sparking, holding steady to the light because his tongue was suddenly snaking past the folds and diving into her cunt. "I'm not done with you yet," he added, lips around her clit while fingers spread her open, taking the whole damn thing into his mouth with a deliberate suck that bent her backwards and the scream in the back of her head was her; hands groping at the ceiling like they were trying to catch something.

And then his tongue had replaced his fingers, a muffled moan shooting right into her pussy as she slammed up into his face; trying to spear herself on his tongue while she bucked and shook and quivered, Dean pushing her knees into the mattress with his elbows after she jerked down hard on the rope and twisted. He held her hips as she wrenched around his mouth, another low chuckle right against her pulse. "I'm not even _close_ to done."

She heard a metallic scrape as Dean's lips and tongue worked against her, another orgasm pouring through her in time with the flickering swirls against her clit, until there was something hard brushing against the lips of her cunt and his cock slipped inside the second another scream scraped its way out of her mouth – swallowed up by a kiss that tasted like her, tongue fucking her as fast as he was.

Dean rammed against her with a four-beat tempo that matched every tattered moan he was drawing out of her with his cock. His hands on her knees kept pressing down on the mattress, pussy exposed to the air and the friction, and she was so slick that the head of his dick thrusting back into her cunt made her eyes roll – coming and coming like ripples in a pond, every thrust a bigger rock that split her open with each measured drop. She was one long scream and the stretch from the rope made her nipples hard, pushed her breasts up for his teeth and his tongue. Her entire pussy ached with the pull and push of his cock, every whispered 'fuck' against her neck, until he stiffened and groaned into her mouth.

"Jesus, fucking…" he said, eyes unfocused – looking down at her with pupils so wide that he looked just like she'd clocked him on the mouth all over again. "Fucking love you," Dean whispered, head bending suddenly. He was still throbbing inside, pulse beating against hers.

The strain in her arms ached, the rope rough against her wrists with a twist she'd probably regret when the feeling tingled back into her hands, but Penny hitched herself up and slammed her mouth against his so he couldn't take it back.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean brushed his fingertips against the pink, roughened circle around Penny's right wrist, and she shivered. It was a light friction burn, her skin color turning back to normal slowly with some aloe vera slathered judiciously around her wrists. She rested her arm across the length of the bathtub edge, leaning back against the far edge with the points of her nipples peeking through the bubbles from the _Honey Harvest Extra Foaming Bubble Bath_ she snuck into the water when he wasn't looking.

"I tied the knots too tight," Dean said. Penny didn't say anything, just continued to watch him like he was some moron from another planet. She'd been doing that ever since she slipped into the tub, crossing his knees with her own as she settled into the water opposite him. It was hot enough to leave their skin as pink as the circle around her wrists. "Do you have any idea how freaky you look right now?" he demanded.

"No."

"I should get a goddamn mirror," Dean retorted. He kept his hand near her wrist, watching her lean forward enough to touch the top of his hand and then gawk up at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Dean sighed, just as loudly as he intended, and shook his head. "Son of a bitch! This is because of that thing I said, isn't it? You can stop staring." He snorted. "And if you say something hinky like 'It's the best Christmas present ever, Dean,' you're getting spanked."

"It's okay," Penny said lightly. She wasn't smiling, exactly, and her voice was breathy. "I won't hold you to something you said during sex," she added, drawing out the words carefully.

"You're one perverse chick," Dean returned sourly. Penny closed her eyes, another shiver going through her as his fingers brushed the burn one more time, but said nothing. It wasn't any easier when she stopped looking at him, because then he had to wonder if he'd said something wrong. "If you're going to hold me to anything, it should be something I said during sex."

"But sometimes we say things we don't really mean." Penny's voice was gentle and she wasn't smiling at all, the planes of her face almost white as they reflected off the water. "We get so caught up in the moment that words just come out, promises we don't mean to make."

"That makes me feel better," Dean grunted. "Because you were _so_ in control while you were sucking my dick back at Bobby's." He sure as hell wasn't going there with the rope and the knife and the way her eyes sparkled when she fucking said '_yes_.'

Penny's eyes shot open, body shifting enough to splash water across his chest. "That was different."

"Yeah?" Dean snorted, spitting away some of the bubbles that started going up in nose from the way she moved. "Maybe you should explain it to me in small words so I can understand."

Her cheeks flushed and she frowned. "That was different because I love you, Dean. It had nothing to do with the sex."

"You're a hypocrite, Penny." Dean folded his arms across his chest. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth like she was getting ready to snap something back, back straight, but then Penny slumped back against the tub. _Fuck it._ "You can say anything you want during sex and it means exactly what you said, even when I've got you hogtied like a heifer. But when I'm the one fucking you, it's just a mistake or something?"

"So you did…" Her voice trailed off before Penny finished the question and she sunk down suddenly so far into the water that Dean could only see her eyes over the top of the bubbles. Penny popped back up after he tried to stare her down, waiting for her to look away first. "You meant it," she said simply, in the smallest voice he had ever heard her use.

_That wasn't a trick question, PenPen._

Dean's throat hurt – Penny Hillsworth wasn't supposed to be some tiny little girl, a will-o-the-wisp thing that didn't even believe the truth when she heard it. He could still hear her father's voice yelling after them as they left the party, telling her not to come back until he had time to forgive her and how her mother would be rolling in her grave by how much she disappointed both of them.

Winston Hillsworth could lay down disappointment as well as John Winchester.

_I sent you here to keep an eye on the bartender, Dean. Not to fuck a waitress in the bathroom._

"Yeah," he said, his voice gruff, and if she was surprised by the fact that his fingers suddenly started entwining with hers – instead of the other way around – Penny didn't show it. "Even if…" Dean shook his head, hearing his father's warning sending off sirens in his head. _Even if my dad would think you're the biggest mistake I could ever make._ Dean swallowed and let go of her hand. "I meant it."

Penny raised her arms over her head slowly, turning her head to look at the wall. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail and the fake hair she'd been wearing earlier had been tossed onto the dresser in her bedroom, but there were still a couple of small white roses blinking back at him. The arc of her arms did something to her breasts behind the bubbles that made Dean want to pick her up and throw her back down onto her paisley green comforter but Penny's sigh kept him from moving at all.

"I'm sorry my dad said those things about you," she said finally. Penny coughed, bringing her arms back down on either side of the bathtub.

_Men like him put you into the hospital. Haven't you already learned your lesson?_

"It's not true." She took a deep breath. "I was the one who did those things… Hurt myself. Things I'm not really proud of doing." Penny shut her mouth abruptly and then shook her head. "I woke up in a hospital bed on New Year's Day after a party. Things got out of hand. Alcohol, drugs and unprotected sex with multiple partners aren't ingredients for a happy diabetes cocktail."

"Penny…" Dean couldn't think of anything else to say, just brought his hand up to touch hers. Every word was slicing right through him. "You don't…"

She ignored him, giving a hard laugh. "I didn't know I had diabetes. I wasn't…a total screw-up hell-bent on killing myself and the unborn child I thankfully didn't conceive that night." Her voice took on her father's tones and Penny pushed her fingers through his, squeezing as hard as she could. "But my dad was right about one thing. Mom would have kicked my ass if she were still alive, would have told me to pick myself up because I was the only one who could." Penny's throat worked. "It wasn't her fault that I was just going through the motions of living because she couldn't anymore."

Dean closed his eyes, wanting to say something, but he knew too much about how losing mothers – and fathers – cut a little too deep to the bone; things lost that you could never get back. He'd been just as numb, looking for something to fill the gaps and going through every bar they stopped at just to sink himself into some willing chick – some willing piece of skin that gasped and moaned and twitched on his dick – so that her screams could drown out the ones that were always burning through the back of his head.

"But then I met you, Dean," she said softly.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I think you got me mixed up with some other knight in shining armor."

"This might come as a surprise, Agent Han, but I remember the face of every idiot in a leather jacket that I hit with my mother's umbrella." Penny's eyes were shiny. "Especially when they get blood all over my favorite scarf," she added.

She blushed with some dorky ass little smile on her face and stared down at her hands making traces in the water. His own cheeks were burning in counterpoint, fists clenching and unclenching as he watched her. _Fuck me…_ Penny Hillsworth had turned him into some goddamn emo idiot – all he needed to do now was start growing out his hair and listening to all that chick rock that Sam would hum when he thought Dean wasn't paying attention.

Like he even wanted to know the words to Tori freaking Amos.

Dean coughed – his goddamn hair must have started growing of its own volition because he was never scratchy, fingers suddenly flicking at both of his ears when he wasn't twitching at the way his hair felt when he moved. He didn't even trust himself to do anything but watch her hands because who knew what frigging thing he was going to say next. Probably something about going out later for Chardonnay and picking up _Beaches_ at the video store after a dinner at some goofy restaurant called _Piccadilly_ where the food came with a wine list pairing and ten different kinds of forks.

Lucky for him, Penny loved listening to the sound of her own voice.

"Do you believe in serendipity?" she asked.

"Serenwhatippity?" Dean chuckled. "You're talking about that chick flick, aren't you?"

"A little." Penny sighed. "My mom believed in it. I think she was serendipity's biggest fan. She used to say that accidents were just fortunate discoveries waiting to happen, showing you something you needed to find even if you didn't know that you were looking for it." She was blushing again, so red it had to be more than the steam that was still piling up off the water. "Like me hitting you with the umbrella."

"See, here's where John Winchester would disagree. Accidents are your own damn fault." Dean was grinning in spite of himself, could hear his father's calm litany about watching your surroundings and being sure not to piss off the wildlife unless you wanted your leg bitten off by something bigger. "Like me mouthing off and not believing that some shrimp with an umbrella was actually Babe Ruth in disguise."

That made Penny laugh, one of her big belly laughs that shook the water so hard Dean had to laugh right along with her. She wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, still chuckling. "I guess it was my own damn fault for bringing you upstairs after you showed up with coffee."

"It was your own damn fault because you called me back." The words poured out before Dean could take them back and Penny was watching him sharply with narrowed eyes. _You're a little young to understand this, Dean, but saying thank you is more than good manners._ Maybe it was the shock of coming face to face with humanity's worst nightmares but the number of people who actually thanked the Winchesters were fewer than even he used to expect – and that was saying something.

But it wasn't just that Penny Hillsworth said thank you. The girl had understood the value of family, the one lesson that John Winchester had hit home so hard Dean could recite all the reasons why he needed to protect Sam by the time he was five. _I should have known you were a big brother._ It wasn't even that she had understood something about how he felt when the crowbar was in his hand and he was beating the fuck out of the one thing that was as much him as his own skin. _My mom died last year and I…went a little crazy._

It was her laugh, seeping through the cracks and soothing every ache Dean didn't know that he had the very first time he heard it. He needed to convince himself that it was a one-time thing, a fluke because of the beer he'd been drinking and that it was nothing more than just a phone call from a girl he missed the chance to screw. One less opportunity to lose the scream in someone else's skin for awhile, to breathe on his own without wondering why he still could.

"My dad was a big fan of duty. He'd say that the only value of thank you was how you said you're welcome," he managed. Dean hoped like hell he could pass off the flush as steam from the water; Sam would be laughing his ass off if he were watching their little conversation. "He taught us that Winchesters pay our debts in full. So when you called and said you wanted your scarf back, I brought it."

It was a test, to prove to himself that he was wrong, and it worked for about fifteen minutes – until she stood on tiptoe and kissed him for the first time. He shook his head; Penny was watching him again, a gift blooming in her eyes as the words registered.

"Jesus Christ," Dean snapped, breath coming out in a huff. "What now?"

"That's the second thing you told me about your dad."

"So?"

Penny clasped her hands in front of her chest. "It's the best Christmas present ever, Dean," she chirped. She managed the straight face for about five seconds before she pushed a wave of water towards him.

"You bitch!" Dean yelled, swallowing a mouthful of soapy water. "This is _so_ on!" He splashed her back but Penny burst right through the water like she didn't care, rushing forward to straddle his thighs, and suddenly he wasn't thinking about the fact that a mouthful of _Honey Harvest Extra Foaming Bubble Bath_ wasn't as tantalizing as the name would suggest because she was slick and soapy and throwing her arms around his neck with another laugh that trickled right into his bones and stayed there for awhile, putting its feet up on the coffee table.

"Fucking love you," Penny whispered against his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is a song by Tori Amos. There's a lot of lovely imagery in it about growing up and a father's expectations; this idea suited Dean and Penny – both of whom currently define themselves based on their fathers' judgment of them. The song also references several fairy tales, which fits the "feel" of the 'verse to me.
> 
> _Semper Fi_ is the abbreviated version of the U.S.M.C motto used by the marines themselves to show loyalty and support for their brothers in arms. The full motto, _Semper Fidelis_, translates as "Always faithful."
> 
> For those who read "Though Hearts Reach Back and Memories Ache," Dean and Penny's reunion is the same scene from his POV.
> 
> The scene in the kitchen was an homage to the desk scene in "By Gaslight." Penny, however, is slightly more modest than Penelope when people are around (although, get her drunk and stick her on a pool table and that's pretty much all she wrote)…and I suspect she didn't think Dean would actually, um, go there with Sam and Lynn sitting next to them.
> 
> Embroiderama and I couldn't find any pictures from the pilot which were light enough to make out the color of the Winchesters' house so we opted with the green we all saw in "Home."
> 
> Penny's inner commentary right before the bondage scene are all lines from the poem _i carry your heart with me_ by e.e. cummings.


End file.
